


To die, to sleep

by pour_homme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Athletes, Canonical Alternate Universe, College, Dream Sex, Erotica, Football | Soccer, Gay, M/M, Memory Alteration, Non-Penetrative Sex, Rare Pairings, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Season/Series 09, Shower Sex, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7305397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pour_homme/pseuds/pour_homme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the night of an out-of-town hunt in Season 9 and Sam's burning the candle at both ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Natural Shocks

It was close to two in the morning when the hours caught up with Sam Winchester at the bottom a styrofoam to-go cup. He looked bleary-eyed between the empty coffee machine in the bathroom alcove and the laptop in front of him as the hill of blankets on the other side of the room rose and fell in an open-mouthed snore. “Ok,” he mouthed, and shuffled to the empty bed, leaving most of his clothes in a pile by the nightstand. He settled under the cheap, scratchy sheets, shut his eyes, and sandwiched his head between two pillows the next time he heard Dean snore.

The bright sky of an afternoon in late April left Sam in a daze long enough for one of the other guys to shoulder check him flat on his back and knock the wind out of him. The ball swished into the net behind him and the shirtless half of the team erupted into hollering and high fives as the coach called “game” on the late scrimmage. A few of the players patted Sam on the shoulder as they passed him with remarks like, “Good hustle,” or, “Pay attention,” and settled into the regular herd toward the locker room. While he squinched his eyes shut and shook the sense back into his head, he heard the grassy swish of someone approaching and looked up to find a bare-chested straggler standing over him. He was tall and, from the looks of it, a couple of years and a lot of quality time in a weight room beyond an intramural team.

“I apologize,” he said, holding his hand down to Sam. The evening sun at his back cast him in a silhouette and wreathed his head in daylight. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Thanks, man,” Sam said, and waved it away. “I’m good. I think I’ll sit for a while.”

“What happened?” The other guy asked, sitting next to him in the grass. “I mean, before I ran into you.”

“I don’t know, really,” Sam said. “I guess I just zoned out for a second.”

“A dangerous habit.” Sam looked at him and finally cracked a smile. The guy’s face was a series of crisp angles that conspired to create a sculptured, leonine impression punctuated by translucent green eyes. It was orderly, unwavering, and somehow entirely unfamiliar to him. “I must’ve really hit my head back there,” he said, “I know I’ve seen you around, but I can’t remember your name.”

“Zeke,” he said, and Sam took pause. “I transferred at the beginning of the semester?” Sam nodded, looking at the ground.

“Yeah, no, I remember now.” He breathed deeply and unfolded himself, propping back on his elbows. “Where are you from again?”

“New Jersey. By way of Los Angeles.”

“You’re taking the long road back home.”

“You have no idea,” said Zeke. “And you? Where are you from?”

“Kansas. Well, mostly. We moved around a lot for dad’s job.”

“Businessman?”

“More like an independent contractor. We don’t really talk anymore.”

“I can relate,” said Zeke. Silence perched between them and the sun crawled closer to the horizon, loosening the lines between what was visible.

“I should head back before it gets too late,” said Sam, shifting to sit upright. Zeke got to his feet and stuck his hand out again. Sam, chuckling up at the serious shape his face had taken, grabbed on this time and pulled himself up. They walked together to pick up their bags and Zeke pulled his jersey back on at the edge of the field.

The way back was quiet and unhurried under the last minutes of the day. A part of Sam was at home in this span of time with his shaggy hair and skinny body and the soccer ball tucked between his flank and elbow. Only the particular way he scrunched his brow persevered. “Have you—have you ever had the feeling you’ve already done something?” he finally asked as they passed a set of double doors into the athletic building.

“Like déjà vu.”

“Sort of, but I don’t think that’s it. It’s like I’m—I don’t know, doing something different and every step I take makes me feel like I’m going off the path.”

“Are you sure you feel all right?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “Yeah. Sorry, I think I’m just out of it today.” He turned and walked the rest of the way toward the locker room door and held it open.

“If you say so,” Zeke said as he passed.

The interior was filled with a stillness stirred only by the scrub and crunch of their cleats on the tile and the slow drip of a leaking sink. It was dark except for a line of faint lights along the ceiling and dimming refractions of privacy glass windows that created intermittent swatches of floor in front of them. The janitors had come and gone by the smell of it. “Looks like they’ve closed up shop.”

“I’ll find the switch.”

“You know what? Don’t worry about it. My head still hurts anyway.”

“Oh. Sure.”

They parted ways at the rows of lockers and met again, undressed, at the place where the wall was interrupted by an opening into the room with shower fixtures lining the walls, Sam with soap caddy and towel and Zeke with nothing. Sam pressed his lips together and nodded curtly and averted his eyes before he went inside for lack of anything comfortable to say. He settled on a spot under one of the safety lights and left his things on a small hook jutting from the faded blue tile.

The first spray of the shower head carved a cone of warmth into the air-conditioned chill of the room. Sam shut his eyes tight and tilted his head into it. It rushed past and into his ears with a low rumble like tires on gravel. He pushed his hair off his forehead with both hands and stood still, communing with the uncharacteristically harmless dark until something touched his side just beneath the ribs.

He jerked away and opened his eyes to an impression of black, blue, and beige blotted by running water that settled into the shape of Zeke when he wiped his eyes. He swallowed and looked between Zeke’s face and chest with his mouth hanging partway open. “I— uh—man, what—” Zeke took a step toward him and into the stream, blinking his vision clear. Sam looked at him with wide, guarded eyes, and his nostrils flared when he exhaled. Zeke’s gaze lingered on like an inescapable tide that gradually quenched and eroded the hot, sharp edges of Sam’s posturing until the rise and fall of his shoulders slowed and his face smoothed into yearling uncertainty.

The narrow span of air and water separating them thinned as Sam’s chest swelled with each low breath in until it finally touched the pale breadth of Zeke’s. Another half of a step forward pushed their cocks past each other and it shook the air out of Sam’s throat in the wake of a dissolving scrap of voice. The taste of the breath that mingled between their open mouths and the water beating over his body drew a familiar awareness to the space between his hips. His eyes slid shut for the first moments after their foreheads touched and he felt himself swelling against Zeke’s groin. The slow-coursing blood and feeling mounted with each steady pulse until his cock slipped up and to the side for lack of room and stood trapped between the smooth skin of Zeke’s stomach and his own.

Zeke shifted his hips back enough to make room for his right hand between them and curled his fingers loosely around Sam, moving it up the length of him and stopping just below the flare of the head, where he ran the side of his thumb gently along its underside. Sam reached for Zeke’s elbow and fumbled uncertainly higher with each shallow, suffering breath until his arm was around Zeke’s shoulders. His lips quivered for the shape of a word, but only ached in the absence of pressure as they grazed Zeke’s and caught the water running off them. Zeke’s eyes, focused and oceanic, suspended him partway on his toes and his legs shook against an urge to thrust until Zeke finally let the head of Sam’s cock pass into his fist. “Guh—” Sam’s voice rattled, his knees wavered, and his eyes came unfocused.

Zeke turned his hand around that most sensitive and swollen part of him with a measured friction that loosened the last seams abiding distance and separation in Sam’s body until he collapsed forward. Sam pressed the side of his face to Zeke’s jaw, curled his other arm around him, and drew in the smell of him at the crook of his neck until his lungs were full with aromas of oil and grass and sun-soaked flesh lifted by the heat and water.  
Soon he felt Zeke’s large hand on his right hip and short stubble against his shoulder. “I—” he whispered against a patch of Zeke’s freckled skin, then again as his hips shook and steady the tempo of his breath faltered. He began to lean back, but Zeke latched his arm around Sam’s waist and fixed him in place without a word. Sam felt the grip the head of his cock tighten and twist agonously around it until wetness and tension climbing its underside turned to urgent pressure. He tightened around it and held his breath and clutched Zeke desperately until neither of their chests would give further and the feeling swelled beyond something his grasping body or fruitless writhing against Zeke’s unmovable arm could contain. His cock jolted and the viscous heat of orgasm shot up through it behind the contractions that gripped his underside and forced spurts of his voice and cum into the space between them. Zeke held his hand still for Sam’s bucking and moaning until the last of it leaked out and Sam sighed voicelessly against his neck.

Sam gradually worked his left leg around Zeke’s as cumming subsided into radiance and heat and felt Zeke’s fingers running along the side of his stomach, then side, and then diagonally along the curve of his back to where they stopped at the opposite shoulder in a gentle grip. “Zeke, we—” Sam finally whispered, and opened his eyes to the pitiless glare of daylight as Zeke’s body and the rushing water collapsed into down and tangled linens.

“Hey! Sammy!” barked Dean, his soapy, concerned face and one shoulder sticking out of the bathroom. The shower and AC/DC were still running behind him. “You okay, Sam?” Sam jolted upright and blinked hard into awareness of the motel room. His face dropped when he saw his brother.

“Yeah- yeah. I’m fine,” he stammered and pushed the sweat-damp hair out of his face. “What’s wrong?” Dean shook his head.

“Nothin’, man. I thought I heard you yell or something. You sure you’re good?”

“I’m good.” He shifted and tensed up when he felt the large wet spot across the front of his underwear. “I just had a— weird dream,” he said as he conjured up a stupid half-smile and pulled the sheets up further around him. Dean looked at him with his brow scrunched in for a second, then relaxed his face and shrugged.

“All right. Welp, coffee’s in the pot.”


	2. A Consummation

“… he’ll be rested up for it at this rate.”  Someone bumped shoulders with Sam and he sat up quickly, eyes half open. Cafeteria.  Afternoon.  Drool.  He wiped the corner of his mouth on his sleeve.  “Right?”  Brady smiled into his dimples.  
     “Uh… yeah, yeah, I’ll go.” Sam said and rubbed the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.  He yawned and slid back from the table.  
     “You all right, buddy?”  
     “I’m fine.  I just didn’t get enough sleep last night,” he said and stood with his bag over his shoulder.  “I think I’m gonna go catch up.” he said, and nodded at the unfamiliar women across the table.    
     “Ten o’clock!” Brady piped after him.  
     “Yeah,” he said over his shoulder.  
     It wasn’t dull or quiet outside, but an unbreakable sense of detachment held the voices and music and colors of a slow-approaching summer at the distance of memory as he strolled with his hands in his pockets.  He nearly collided with someone as he rounded the corner of the earth science building and excused himself.  “Twice in one week.”  Sam turned on his heel and found Zeke standing there, blocking the sun with his hand.  Sam was unprepared, and the expression left his face as he swallowed.  
     “Oh— yeah— I— hey.”  
     “Hey,” Zeke imitated, and stepped up beside him to clear a small flock of people leaving the building. “Are you feeling better?”  
     “I am,” said Sam, and paused just long enough to want to fill the space.  “Better.”    
     “That is good news.” Sam nodded and looked past him in a few different directions, then at the ground.  “I’ll see you around, then,” Zeke conceded.  
     “Yeah.  Seeya.”  Sam stood there stirring the loose change and keys in his right pocket as he watched Zeke mingle with the group crossing the street.  Every step took up the slack between them until it finally snapped taut.  “Hey!” Zeke turned and the crowd passed him.  They met at the end of the sidewalk, where Sam had an inch or two on him with the curb.  “Do you— I mean, if you’re not busy, do you wanna walk?”  Sam pushed himself to eye contact.  
     “I have time,” said Zeke.  “Where are we walking?”  
     “My dorm,” he said, then immediately cleared his throat.  “Not—I was on my way there—”  
     “I know,” Zeke cut in.   Sam glanced off to the side and took the lead.  They crossed the street together and walked alongside a pale yellow building lined with gray-shuttered windows.  Silence was more stark in the middle of the afternoon than at dusk.  “Do you have other classes?”  
     “Today?  No.  I’m out by two on Fridays.  Do you?”  
     “No,” said Zeke, “Only morning classes.”  
     “What’s your major anyway?”  
     “Environmental Science.”  
     “Really,”  Sam chuckled.  They checked for traffic at the intersection and hustled across.  “I thought you’d be in sports medicine or something,” he said as they settled back into a walking pace.  Cars and wooded swatches hedged the narrow road forward.    
     “Why?”  
     “Well, you’re really—” Sam found himself evaluating his options mid-sentence again.  “Athletic,”  he said. “I’m pre-law.”  
     “That suits you.”  
     “Yeah?”  He smiled.  
     “Yeah.”  
     Zeke stopped at the top of the three stairs before the freshman dorm’s entrance and Sam looked back for him as he opened the front door.  “You coming?”  
     “If you want me to.”  His posture was nearly regimental as he waited.  
     “Yeah.  C’mon.”  Zeke followed him through halls and up a flight of stairs to a door on the back end.  Sam cupped a yawn as he fiddled with his keys.  
     “Are you tired?”  Sam stepped through the door in front of him and they left their shoes and bags in front of the closet.  
     “Sort of.” The room was clean and unadorned. A pair of bunk beds with a wooden frame stood lengthwise against its longer wall.  There were two desks sitting side-by-side on the opposite wall.  Sam opened the mini fridge that separated them, which was empty aside from a pack of water bottles in the door and a six-pack hidden under a convenience store bag in the back.  He looked between them, then tossed a bottle of water to Zeke and took one for himself. “I didn’t really sleep last night,” he said as he stood and turned on the T.V.  SciFi.  “I guess I dozed off in the middle of lunch.”  
     “Oh, should I—”  
     “No, no.  It’s cool; I can hang out.”  He took a swallow of his water, sat on the lower bunk, and propped its pillows up side-by-side on the wall behind him, then leaned back against one and patted the other.  Zeke sat, leaving space between them, and cracked his bottle.  
     “What is this?” he nodded at the T.V.  
     “Battlestar,” said Sam. “Actually, there’s a guy on here who kind of looks like you.”  Blabbering.  “Uh— it’s a re-run though.  We can watch something else.”    
     “No.  Leave it.” Zeke smiled with one corner of his mouth and turned his head back toward the screen.  He sat still in an edificial way Sam decided was either patience or indifference.  He looked over on careful occasions as the space opera played out, following Zeke’s jaw to the muscular slope between his neck and shoulder.  The T-shirt he wore was an unremarkable gray color, but the cotton adhered faithfully to the contours of his torso.  Sam unconsciously tucked his lips as he looked along the low arc of Zeke’s stomach to his belt buckle.  He met Zeke’s gaze when he glanced back up and inhaled sharply upon realizing that he’d been caught, then quickly riveted his eyes to the TV screen.   Zeke scooted closer and the mattress creaked under him.   Sam swallowed and made a smaller shift toward the center of the bed, then looked right at Zeke when he heard what sounded like start of a laugh.  
     “What?”  Zeke rotated to face him and came forward without warning, snaking his arm under Sam’s and around him.  When he dropped onto his back, Sam came down on top of him.  He didn’t fight it, but found himself floundering once again in the undertow of a situation that swept him abruptly past the boundaries he knew to be firmlyestablished by and between men.  The lines were more difficult to ignore without the dark and heat and water to run them together, and so Sam suspended himself in a frozen short of way with his elbow propping him up just above Zeke’s shoulder.   “I don’t—know what to do,” he confessed.    
     “Do what you want to.”  Zeke leaned up enough to grab one of the pillows they’d been sitting against and pull it under his head, then opened the arm holding Sam and turned his head back toward the T.V.  Sam sighed through his nose and sent his eyes down Zeke’s body again, allowing them to loiter more as the fear of being discoveredpassed with Zeke’s inattention.   In time, looking mingled with the urge to touch him Sam brought his free hand to Zeke’s shoulder.  When Zeke didn’t respond, Sam gradually felt along his chest and followed the cleft at its center to the shallow dip where it ended.  Zeke took a deeper breath through his nose when Sam’s spread fingertips skimmed down his stomach and past his navel to the waist of his pants.  He traced back over the same path with the backs of his fingers and felt Zeke’s midsection tighten beneath them.  
     Part of Sam wanted to reach under the fabric, to wrestle Zeke out of his clothes and see him undone in broad daylight. But then what?  He shifted closer to the foot of the bed and lay on his side next to Zeke with his left arm tucked.  He pressed his cheek to Zeke’s chest, where he caught the nip of cologne and the warm, natural scent he was embarrassed to recognize.  Zeke’s arm curled around his shoulders and squeezed him closer.  
     “Is—this ok?” Sam ventured, looking up.  Zeke faced him and pushed his bangs back with his free hand, then smiled at him.  
     “This is good,”  he said.  Sam kept his ear close to the slow, steady throb of Zeke’s heart and drifted off in the middle of a commercial.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> First post here. I may write more if there's interest.  
> I'm my own beta reader, so don't be shy if you find a typo.
> 
> (Do not post, reproduce, and/or adapt this content in whole or in part anywhere for any reason without the author's written consent.)


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